The Rosary | Page 4

IS LIFTED VII GARTH FINDS HIS
ROSARY VIII ADDED PEARLS IX LADY INGLEBY'S HOUSE
PARTY X THE REVELATION XI GARTH FINDS THE CROSS XII
THE DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION XIII THE ANSWER OF THE
SPHINX XIV IN DERYCK'S SAFE CONTROL XV THE
CONSULTATION XVI THE DOCTOR FINDS A WAY XVII
ENTER--NURSE ROSEMARY XVIII THE NAPOLEON OF THE
MOORS XIX THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS. XX JANE
REPORTS PROGRESS XXI HARD ON THE SECRETARY XXII DR.
ROB TO THE RESCUE XXIII THE ONLY WAY XXIV THE MAN'S
POINT OF VIEW XXV THE DOCTOR's DIAGNOSIS XXVI
HEARTS MEET IN SIGHTLESS LAND XXVII THE EYES GARTH
TRUSTED XXVIII IN THE STUDIO XXIX JANE LOOKS INTO
LOVES MIRROR XXX "THE LADY PORTRAYED" XXXI IN
LIGHTER VEIN XXXII AN INTERLUDE XXXIII "SOMETHING IS

GOING TO HAPPEN!" XXXIV "LOVE NEVER FAILETH" XXXV
NURSE ROSEMARY HAS HER REWARD XXXVI THE
REVELATION OF THE ROSARY XXXVII "IN THE FACE OF
THIS CONGREGATION" XXXVIII PERPETUAL LIGHT

THE ROSARY
CHAPTER I
ENTER THE DUCHESS.
The peaceful stillness of an English summer afternoon brooded over
the park and gardens at Overdene. A hush of moving sunlight and
lengthening shadows lay upon the lawn, and a promise of refreshing
coolness made the shade of the great cedar tree a place to be desired.
The old stone house, solid, substantial, and unadorned, suggested
unlimited spaciousness and comfort within; and was redeemed from
positive ugliness without, by the fine ivy, magnolia trees, and wistaria,
of many years' growth, climbing its plain face, and now covering it
with a mantle of soft green, large white blooms, and a cascade of purple
blossom.
A terrace ran the full length of the house, bounded at one end by a large
conservatory, at the other by an aviary. Wide stone steps, at intervals,
led down from the terrace on to the soft springy turf of the lawn.
Beyond--the wide park; clumps of old trees, haunted by shy brown deer;
and, through the trees, fitful gleams of the river, a narrow silver ribbon,
winding gracefully in and out between long grass, buttercups, and
cow-daisies.
The sun-dial pointed to four o'clock.
The birds were having their hour of silence. Not a trill sounded from
among the softly moving leaves, not a chirp, not a twitter. The stillness
seemed almost oppressive. The one brilliant spot of colour in the

landscape was a large scarlet macaw, asleep on his stand under the
cedar.
At last came the sound of an opening door. A quaint old figure stepped
out on to the terrace, walked its entire length to the right, and
disappeared into the rose-garden. The Duchess of Meldrum had gone to
cut her roses.
She wore an ancient straw hat, of the early-Victorian shape known as
"mushroom," tied with black ribbons beneath her portly chin; a loose
brown holland coat; a very short tweed skirt, and Engadine "gouties."
She had on some very old gauntlet gloves, and carried a wooden basket
and a huge pair of scissors.
A wag had once remarked that if you met her Grace of Meldrum
returning from gardening or feeding her poultry, and were in a
charitable frame of mind, you would very likely give her sixpence. But,
after you had thus drawn her attention to yourself and she looked at you,
Sir Walter Raleigh's cloak would not be in it! Your one possible course
would be to collapse into the mud, and let the ducal "gouties" trample
on you. This the duchess would do with gusto; then accept your
apologies with good nature; and keep your sixpence, to show when she
told the story.
The duchess lived alone; that is to say, she had no desire for the
perpetual companionship of any of her own kith and kin, nor for the
constant smiles and flattery of a paid companion. Her pale daughter,
whom she had systematically snubbed, had married; her handsome son,
whom she had adored and spoiled, had prematurely died, before the
death, a few years since, of Thomas, fifth Duke of Meldrum. He had
come to a sudden and, as the duchess often remarked, very suitable end;
for, on his sixty-second birthday, clad in all the splendours of his
hunting scarlet, top hat, and buff corduroy breeches, the mare he was
mercilessly putting at an impossible fence suddenly refused, and
Thomas, Duke of Meldrum, shot into a field of turnips; pitched upon
his head, and spoke no more.
This sudden cessation of his noisy and fiery life meant a complete

transformation in the entourage of the duchess. Hitherto she had had to
tolerate the boon companions, congenial to himself, with whom he
chose to fill the house; or to invite those of her own friends to whom
she could explain Thomas, and who suffered Thomas gladly, out of
friendship for her, and enjoyment of lovely Overdene. But even